


aberration

by tanyart



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Self-Denial, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21826129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Drifter has a nightmare, and then some.
Relationships: The Drifter/Shin Malphur
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83





	aberration

It wasn’t a nightmare this time, but Drifter jolted awake to a hammering heart and sweat at his neck. His tried to take a breath, but his mouth was pressed tight like he wanted to muffle himself. After a long second, he unclenched his jaw and parted his lips to let out a shaky sigh.

As much as he wanted to, Drifter didn’t throw off his blankets. His body felt too warm, and the sweat at his neck hadn’t been from cold terror — it was hot, felt flushed. Drifter slid his hand down, past the waistband of his pants, fingers at the juncture of his thigh, and was more disappointed than surprised to shiver at his own touch.

It wasn’t just any ol’ dream. Fuckin’ wet as a puddle of radiolaria.

The dream — what Drifter remembered of if — was all warmth and teasing caresses. Hands, mostly, with the firm press of nails at his skin. Worst, he wasn’t just dreaming about disembodied touches over his body, not like how he would fantasize while awake. What fragments lingered were familiar creases on the palms, calluses at the index fingers from centuries of trigger work, the uneven bump of knuckles — a person whose hands he knew.

It wasn’t a vague weight against him. He could recall the damning detail of the body being too hot, the fear that the body was enough to burn him to ash.

Drifter let out a hiss, fingers digging into his skin, hips bucking up despite himself. He didn’t give a fuck about waking horny to a hard on. Shit happened. Stress. Exhaustion. Whatever. It was better than being woken up by his usual nightmares, but Drifter would have rested easier if the dream was shapeless — _faceless_.

No, not even faceless, because what slithered into his mind was that fuckin’ helmet, that familiar renegade’s armor and a cloak to match.

Drifter knew exactly who he had been dreaming of. Hell, the name was already sitting in the back of his throat, half on his tongue, waiting to spill out in a moan. It’d explain why he startled awake with his jaw clamped tight, heart beating like it wanted to jump out of his chest and make a break for it.

“Shin,” he muttered, almost soundless, just to get the name off his lips. Like ripping off an old dressing, except that his hand wrapped around his cock and the warm pressure sent his next exhale tumbling into a groan of relief.

_Shit._

Drifter would rather shoot himself than let Shin know how badly he wanted him. It was one thing to get suckered in by a moment of heat with someone who was _there_ to push your buttons, it was something different to have that same person invade your mind, all alone and unbidden.

Tell someone like Shin Malphur you wanted him, and he’d be the type to take advantage of that.

The thought sat in his mind, festering, gnawing like paranoia. Drifter shuddered. Despite everything, he still _wanted_. Those hands on him, their scorching touches and a grip strong enough to bruise.

Hard to tell if he was more pissed off or turned on at this point. Drifter rolled over, using every curse he’d learned in his lifetimes, knees digging into the mattress and head pressed to his pillow. He tugged his pants down with a quiet snarl. The arc of his body didn’t give much room to jerk himself off — but Shin wouldn’t give Drifter room either if he was there to press over his back instead of the blankets. Drifter’s fist tightened over himself.

Shin would touch him though, both greedy and indulgent, thumb sweeping over the head of his cock. Drifter felt himself go taunt just imagining it, had to slow his hand down from it, cut his racing mind short. What a damn shame Shin wouldn’t think to put his fingers around Drifter’s throat. Drifter would have to grab Shin’s wrist and guide it there, and half the time he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Too much in the gesture. Too much if he asks for it more than once. Better if Shin figured that one out on his own so Drifter could lay all the blame on him.

Shin was clever though. Shin would notice Drifter jump every time he’d put his hand at his neck, and then Shin would be a bastard about it — touch at Drifter’s chest instead until Drifter made enough noise and pressed himself into the bed to rut into the blankets.

Drifter's hand stuttered then pumped himself faster. _Fuck._ He'd like that. He'd like that a lot, more than he was willing to admit. 

After that, Drifter’s mind was skipping all over the place. Just images now, some from the past and some as imaginings that never happened — Shin on his back, Shin pushing him against the wall, Shin’s voice in his ear. Drifter shook, head spinning as he panted into the pillow and sped up the motions of his hand, his rocking hips.

That was the bad thing about fantasizing. Couldn’t control himself. Couldn’t control that he was thinking all about Shin Malphur fucking him in every way.

Drifter came hard into his fist. No sound, not a damn word from his mouth, except for Shin’s name ringing between his ears. He shut his eyes, body rolling in the burning waves of his orgasm. It took a dizzying second for the unrepentant pleasure to subside but once it did, he granted himself the permission to groan and flop to one side, kicking off the blankets.

Drifter coughed, shivered, and took a look at his hand. His palm was wet, and there was a fucking mess all over himself and his sheets.

He really shouldn't have looked. He suddenly pictured Shin grabbing his hand and licking it clean, all dark eyes and satisfied smile. How Shin would push him back down, no need to get up from the bed and wipe themselves off.

Then the lazy, ruinous kiss that would come after — all Shin’s doing, with salt on his tongue and more heat on his lips, and Drifter would invite it all again.

Muttering, Drifter threw his arm over his eyes. The adrenaline of lust was thinning out in his blood, but something kept his face flushed and body craving more. He pulled his arm away, fingers trying to stretch out the uncomfortable stickiness. He hated that he was thinking about aftermath, like that was a part of the fantasy beyond beating off to someone's face. Hell, it'd be easier if it was just that.

Drifter stared at his dark ceiling for some time, mind blank, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He dragged himself out of bed to wash up, shuck off his pants, and took a look at the time at the very last second.

Dawn at the Tower. Perfect. No time for nightmares if he stayed awake.

Drifter rubbed at his tired eyes, felt the darkened bags under there. No sleep for a week would give you that.

Time to get up.


End file.
